GARRETT
Jennie’s annoying me.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen her, and she’s thwarting all my attempts. She ignored every FaceTime request, didn’t come to our home game yesterday with the girls, but sent me multiple lewd messages while she was in her classes. I’m super confused. I hate being confused.
Plus, I leave tomorrow for three nights on the road, then fly home to the east coast for the holidays. I wouldn’t mind seeing her first.
I shoot off a quick text and knock on Adam’s door.
Me: U done being a brat? Sunshine: Literally never. Me: Let’s bang tonight.
Me: Oops, autocorrect got me again. **hang
Sunshine: No thanks.
The door opens, and Bear leaps up on my chest, tongue in my mouth the second I open it.
“Sorry ’bout him.” Oddly enough, Adam doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “You know he likes his kisses.”
“I prefer a woman’s tongue, Bear, but yours will do.” I carry him into the house, setting him down when my face is good and wet. Adam looks tired, so I bet I already know the
answer to the question I’m about to ask. “How was your date last night? What was she, number six?”
“Eight.” He sighs, tugging at his hair, which leads me to believe it was as underwhelming as the previous seven.
“What was it this time?” I follow him into the kitchen, where he hands me a plate stacked with sandwiches made of toasted rye bread, salami, prosciutto, the works, and this is exactly why the dating stuff isn’t working out for him. He’s too good for most of this world. Nobody deserves Adam’s sandwiches. Except me, obviously.
“Vacation property. She wanted to know if I had any.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, and Adam looks the same. There are plenty of girls out there that money and fame mean nothing to—we’ve already got three of them—so why is it so difficult for a guy like Adam to find one?
“I need to meet someone who’s never watched hockey,” he grumbles. “Knows nothing about the sport and doesn’t have a single clue who I am. Maybe then I’ll know if they actually like me for me.”
This version of Adam, ready to call it a day, is sad. It’s not the Adam I know. I want him to find the good he’s looking for; I know she’s out there.
“I’m sorry, buddy. Give it some more time. I bet she comes around when you’re least expecting.”
“Hope so.” He checks his Apple Watch. “Jaxon should be here any minute, then we can take off.”
“Jaxon? What? No. He’s coming? C’mon. That guy?”
Adam’s doorbell rings, and he chuckles. “He’s a good guy.”
“He’s annoying,” I counter, following him down the hall as I stuff the rest of my sandwich into my mouth. I’m not sharing.
“Carter’s annoying, and you’re friends with him.” He levels me with a look that tells me to play nice. “I think you’ll like Jaxon if you give him a chance. C’mon. He’s
uprooted his whole life and moved to a new country. He doesn’t have anyone here.”
“Fine, but he’s sitting in the back.”
Adam opens the door, and Jaxon grins at us from the porch.
“I call shotgun!” he yells, then promptly dashes to Adam’s truck, and I fucking hate him.
“Did you have to get the biggest one?” Adam grunts as we shove my Christmas tree into the back of his pickup.
“I got the biggest,” Jaxon argues.
I shove him through the pine needles. “Like fuck you did.”
“Biggest tree to match the biggest cock.”
“You’re the biggest dick, that’s for fucking sure.”
Adam sighs. “I should’ve gone with the couples. Then I wouldn’t be feeling like a single dad right now, and I would’ve had my Christmas tree two weeks ago.”
“Yeah, and you’d be missing all the fun,” I say, then clap Jaxon’s hand in a high five.
Okay, so he hasn’t been the worst today, but he hasn’t been the best either. Tolerable. A couple funny jokes here and there. He’s okay. Plus, I know what it’s like to come out here on your own and hope someone will take you into their crew.
Still, by the time we’re wrapping up at lunch, Jaxon doesn’t seem that lonely. He’s managed to get both the hostess and the waitress’s phone numbers without them knowing about each other. He’s taking one for dinner tonight, Adam’s heading to Second Chance to volunteer, and I’m arguing with Jennie via text.
“I could probably get both girls out tonight and you can join us, Andersen,” Jaxon says when we climb into Adam’s
truck. “If you need help getting a date.”
“I don’t need help getting a date, you douchewaffle,” I grumble as I shoot off a text.
Me: Can u at least come be a brat at my place? Sunshine: OMG! It’s like you’re obsessed with me or something.
Me: Accurate. Please? I leave tomorrow n won’t be back til after xmas.
Sunshine: I can’t, ok?? I’m on my period.
Me: Ok, and??
“Did you just call me a douchewaffle? What the fuck even is that?”
I honestly don’t know. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jennie. Her insults are colorful, to say the least, and she’s rubbing off on me. A few days away from her over Christmas will probably do me well.
But it’s not Christmas just yet, so I shoot off another text with ten question marks.
Sunshine: I’M. ON. MY. PERIOD.
I lean between the front seats. “Hey, why would a girl not wanna hang out when she’s on her period? Are they really that grumpy?”
“What’s the nature of the relationship?” Jaxon asks. My nose scrunches. “Huh?”
“Physical or emotional?”
“Uh, physical.” Right? Maybe emotional too? Ugh, I don’t know. I like eating her pussy, tickling her back while we watch TV, and it’s cool when she tells me things no one else knows. “I don’t know,” I admit on a groan, sinking back in my seat.
Adam’s suspicious, scary gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror.
“Physical,” I quickly clarify. “Just a girl I’m…fucking around with.” I frown. That doesn’t sound right. Jennie means more to me than that.
“There’s your reason,” Jaxon replies. “If she’s on her period, not a whole lot of fucking around you can do.”
“Oh.” I drum my fingers on my knees, then lean between them again, hands on their shoulders. “Does that mean she doesn’t wanna hang out with me if there’s no s*x involved?”
Jaxon smiles slowly. “It means she’s giving you an out, dude. She’s telling you now so you don’t come over hoping to get some. Be grateful.”
I guess, but the longer I mull over the words, the more they don’t sit well with me.
That’s probably why hours later, when the tree is up and dinner is on the way, I make my way down to the twenty- first floor.
“Go away!” Jennie yells through the door when I knock. I knock again, louder.
“I already told you, Emily! I don’t have any fucking wine! Sorry I’m sober! Unless you’ve got a pint of Ben & Jerry’s for me, leave me here to die!”
Huh. I’ve never been more grateful to have six provinces between me and my little sisters.
I try the handle, pleased when the door swings open. The second I step inside, though, I’m considering turning right the fuck back around.
Jennie’s sobs are fierce, hair piled in a mess on top of her head, where it hangs off the edge of the couch. Tissues litter the ground, and an open tube of cookie dough sits on her coffee table.
She throws a popcorn kernel at the TV. “I hate you, you evil…snail! You should’ve never taken him in if you couldn’t take care of him.” She flings her arm out, gesturing at the
cartoon fox on the TV. “Look at his sweet face! How could you do this to him? He’s your family!”
“Jesus fuck. You’re riding the hot mess express, eh?”
Jennie shrieks, rolling off the couch and crashing into the coffee table. She sits up, hair spilling out of her bun. She blows a thick wave off her face, illuminating her tear- streaked cheeks and red eyes. “Garrett! Get out! Why are you in here? Who let you in? What are you doing?”
“Watching you cry, apparently. Again.”
She gestures violently at the TV. “The old lady’s leaving him in the forest all by himself! It’s dark and raining, and he doesn’t understand! She’s supposed to love him! You don’t leave someone you love!” She swats at the tears streaming down her face, and I pull her to her feet, wrapping her up, rubbing her back as we sway.
“Shhh. It’s okay. I know.”
“She’s so mean,” Jennie cries softly, wiping her face on my shoulder. She hiccups and pulls back, scrubbing her eyes with her fists. “Tod doesn’t deserve it.”
“No, he doesn’t, you’re right.” I kiss her forehead and pat her ass. “Go put pants on. You can’t ride the elevator in your underwear, and you’re not spending all night in here crying over Disney movies.”
Jennie’s nose is pink, lips swollen, but when the words finally settle, she still manages to look like she could rip my balls off. “I’m on my period.”
“Yeah, you said that. So what?”
“So you don’t wanna hang out with me on my period! I’m hungry and growly like a bear, emotional like a toddler who missed nap time, and you’re not getting any!”
“I hate to break it to you, sunshine, but you’re always hungry, growly, and emotional. But, hey.” I take her damp face in my hands. “You’re my hungry, growly, emotional bear.” I kiss her lips. “Come on. I need help with something. And I promise to feed you.”
She disappears slowly and backward, eyes skeptical as she watches me, and I survey her mess. Beyond the tissues and cookie dough, a framed picture lays facedown on the coffee table. I turn it over, smiling at the blue-eyed brunette grinning from ear to ear from her dad’s shoulders, clutching a pink bunny—Princess Bubblegum. A silver locket hangs from her neck, barely visible in the photo, and my heart aches for my friend.
When Jennie reappears, she’s draped in my hoodie and sweatpants, and I’m content in knowing I’m never getting them back.
I follow her out the door and into the elevator, and she sighs.
“I really hope you have ice cream, Garrett.”
“First thing I put in my cart for you.” I lead her into my apartment. “I’ll make you a sundae, but first you have to help me—” I point at the tree, the boxes of decorations on the floor, “—with that.”
Jennie squeals, clasping her hands. “We’re decorating?” She dashes to the tree, fingers fluttering over the pine needles, eyes glittering with wonder. “We haven’t decorated since my dad died. It makes my mom too sad. I thought it made me sad, too, but now…now I think it’s just one more thing we’re missing.” She graces me with a grateful, breathtaking smile before hugging me tightly. “Thank you for including me.” Her eyes light up. “Do you have hot chocolate? We need hot chocolate if we’re gonna decorate. And Christmas music. Can I put the star up top? My dad always put me on his shoulders. It was my favorite part.” She squeezes me once more, then rips open a box of decorations.
“Do you want marshmallows in your hot chocolate?” I ask as she tears around my living room. At this rate, she’ll be done before I’ve even heated the milk.
“Yes, please! Just bring the whole bag!”
It’s an odd request, but I do as I’m told, all while Jennie hooks her phone up to my speakers and starts pumping old Christmas tunes.
She’s maybe the cutest thing ever as she sings to herself, hips swaying back and forth as she works. She asks for the story behind every handmade childhood ornament and takes a hot chocolate break every two minutes. It’s essentially her spooning the marshmallows from her mug into her mouth, then dumping another handful on top.
“Garrett,” she coos. “Oh my God. Is this your tiny hand?”
I wrap my arm around her waist and drop my chin to her shoulder, examining the glass ornament she holds delicately in her hands. There’s a small, white handprint on it, and each finger is decorated like a snowman. I spin it, showing her my sloppy handwriting, the backward letter G, and the 5 that tells us how old I was.
Her beam is so bright. “Do you have any paint?”
“Paint?” I follow her gaze to the box of six glass globes. “You wanna make handprint snowmen?”
She grins, head bobbing.
What did I say? Cutest thing ever? Feeling like a pretty accurate statement right now.
Forty-five minutes later, our hands are covered in grayish-blue latex paint that won’t come all the way off, there’s paint on the tip of Jennie’s nose and above my left eyebrow, and our miscolored snowmen handprints hang side by side on my tree. Jennie’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her.
She’s snuggling in on the couch while I put the finishing touches on our ice cream sundaes when my phone starts vibrating across the room.
“Uh, you have a FaceTime request,” Jennie tells me, her tone uncharacteristically reserved. “Someone named Gabby.”
“Oh perfect.” I set the ice cream bowls on the coffee table and flop down next to Jennie. Taking my phone, I wait for my littlest sister’s face to appear. “Hey, Gabs.”
Out of my periphery, I catch the way Jennie’s shoulders drop, and she scoots a little closer.
“Garrett!”
“What’s up, kiddo?”
Gabby heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I miss you so much. Alexa is annoyin’ me. Maybe she’ll be nicer when you get home.”
“Shut. Up. Gabby!” Alexa yells from the abyss. She’s three years older than Gabby, and a fuckload sassier. She and Jennie would get along well.
“See what I mean?” Gabby rolls her eyes, and when she notices the bit of Jennie she can see, her face lights. “Who’s that?”
“This is my friend, Jennie.” I flash the phone her way, and Gabby gives Jennie a big wave. “We’re about to eat our ice cream sundaes.”
“Friend? Like, girlfriend?”
“No,” Jennie and I say at the same time, laughter echoing off the walls.
Gabby’s eyes sparkle with mischief, and she grins, showing off the gap between her front teeth. “Sure. That’s what they all say.” She twists. “Mom! Garrett has a girlfriend!”
“Is she coming for Christmas?” Mom shouts back, and Jennie buries her face beneath my arm.
“No, she can’t make it,” I tell them, smiling down at Jennie. “She’s about to die from embarrassment because the idea of us in a relationship sickens her.”
“Ha!” Mom snorts from afar. “I like her already!”
Gabby giggles. “Well, I guess if you’re eatin’ ice cream, I should let you eat it before it melts. I can’t wait to see you, Garrett.”
“Me too, Gabs. Love ya.”
“She’s your twin,” Jennie murmurs when I set my phone down. “She almost looks like she could be your daughter.”
I chuckle, handing Jennie her sundae before I dive into mine. “Yeah, me and Gabs look just like our mom. Alexa and Stephie look like our dad.”
“You must be so excited to see them. I always wished I had a sister.” She steals a chunk of banana from my sundae. “Will you see anyone else when you’re home?”
“My old high school crew gets together every time I’m back. There were only sixty of us in our graduating class, so most of us were pretty close. Almost everyone still lives there.”
It’s hard to tell what lingers behind Jennie’s smile. It looks part wistful, and maybe a little sad.
“What about you?” I shove her spoon aside, digging into her bowl after emptying mine. “Are you still close with your high school friends?”
Jennie pauses on sucking her spoon clean. “No.” The simple answer is soft but firm, final, and the way she starts putting space between us, no matter how little, tells me not to push it.
“Whadda ya wanna watch?” “I don’t care.”
I highly doubt that. We’ve watched several movies and TV shows together, and I’ve only ever been allowed to choose when it’s a preapproved movie or show on her list.
I flip mindlessly through Netflix, focusing instead on Jennie from the corner of my eye. She’s pulling at the frayed hem of the blanket draped over her lap, tugging at the cuff of her sleeves, twining her hair around her fingers, all while looking anywhere but at me.
I don’t like the apprehension she’s wearing, the rosy flush of her cheeks because she’s trying to withhold her emotions, the way her gaze wobbles just slightly.
I pick up her phone. It’s still connected to my speakers, so I exit her Christmas playlist and click on the one titled
J’s Favs while she watches me curiously.
“I can’t dance like you, but I can do a mean slow spin around the living room. You shoulda seen all the girls I got at the Spring Fling in eighth grade. Started so many fights between friends.” I hold out my hand, and when she hesitantly slips hers into mine, I pull her to her feet. “C’mon, Jennie. Dance with me.”
Her grin is a slow explosion, lighting her whole face as all that apprehension fades away. “You’ll dance for me?”
“I’ll do anything for you.” Spinning her into me, I wind an arm around her back. When our fingers lace, she lays her head on my chest. “Although it’s secretly killing me that I’m slow dancing to Justin Bieber right now.”
We sway together, a comfortable silence that wraps around us, the twinkly lights from the Christmas tree making her glow in my arms, but I think she always glows.
A new song starts, and Jennie makes a soft, happy noise, her body molding into mine. I listen as she hums along to the music, and as the words dance around my living room, the familiarity of the tune sinks in.
“This is your favorite song,” I murmur. “How’d you know?”
“When you drove me home after my concussion, it came on the radio. You turned it up and sang along.” I looked it up later that night, learning its name: “Falling Like The Stars.” I remember the quiet way she sang the words, the way the air in the car changed, heavier somehow. I knew then I wanted to know her better, so I came up with my genius swim plan. She’d never let me go alone.
“I thought you were sleeping.” “Nah. Just couldn’t look at you.”
“Garrett,” she guffaws, delivering a swift smack to my shoulder.
I chuckle, catching her hand and tangling our fingers again. “Not like that. We were alone in my car, and you
looked so hot sitting in the driver’s seat. I was afraid I was gonna derail us and toss you in the backseat.”
She giggles quietly, and I revel in the feel of her in my arms, like she was made to be a part of my life in some way.
“Jennie?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask why?”
“Why what?” she asks, her body relaxed against mine, her hand soft and warm in my grip, head resting on my shoulder as she hums along. I’d like to believe it’s because she trusts me, that she feels safe with me. But the truth is, she’s calm because she has no idea I’m about to tread down this path. She thinks she’s surrounded by skyscrapers, but they’re just walls—walls that slowly lower each day, allowing me glimpses into her life, her past, even if she’s unaware.
So, why what? How do I ask without scaring her off? Why has it been years since she’s had s*x? What happened, and who hurt her? Is she okay? How can I help?
“What did he do?” The question finally slips out, though I’m not sure it’s the right one, especially when she tenses in my arms.
“I think I’m gonna head out,” she says softly, her hands slipping from mine.
“What? No. No, I—” I watch her move toward the door, searching for her slippers. When she finds them, I grab them. “Don’t leave.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she lies. “I’m just tired.”
“No.” I pull her back to me, wrapping her up in my arms as she puts up a weak resistance. “Please, Jennie,” I murmur. “Don’t leave me.”
She sighs, surrendering to the embrace, letting me hold her tight. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
So we don’t. We settle back on the couch, buried under blankets, Jennie nestled between my legs, her small hand gripping my shirt as the Whos down in Whoville get ready for Christmas.
I slide my hoodie up her back, tracing my fingertips over her smooth skin. “Jennie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I upset you.”
She sighs, nestling closer, her face pressed into my chest. “Garrett?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for making me feel better today. I’m lucky to have you.”
But I think I’m the lucky one. When she falls asleep ten minutes into the movie, I don’t wake her. I don’t wake her until after midnight, and even then, I’m tempted to just let her sleep.
Instead, I gently lift her, winding her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, and carry her back to her apartment. I leave with a soft kiss on her lips as she stirs, looking up at me with a sleepy, radiant smile.
